"My brother got swept out to sea"

That day, I finished my job as a care worker at midday and saw I had a text message from my mum. 'Are you on your way home?' she asked.

'Yes, on my way now,' I replied. I didn't think much of it, except that she might want me to hurry home for lunch.

But when I arrived at her house, I saw a police car parked outside. My stomach lurched. I raced inside and saw Mum and my brother Michael's girlfriend sitting on the sofa.

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They'd been crying. I turned towards the police officer who was sitting next to them. "What's going on?" I asked.

Time seemed to stand still before anyone answered. "Mike was fishing this morning," the officer said. "A wave came up and swept him into the water. They've got people looking for him."

I thought back to the last time I saw him alive, just three days earlier.

I couldn't take it in. "No, no, this isn't true," I said. Then I let myself fall to the floor. Michael was just 23 – four younger than me. We were so close as kids. Mum always told me how I was the only one who could understand him when he first started to talk as a toddler. He was a brilliant uncle to my sons Kai, nine, and Tyler, seven, too – always playing rough and tumble. I couldn't bear for anything to have happened to him.

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Kate and Michael taking a selfie

Kate Bindon

On the morning of 22 January 2014, Michael had set off from Mum's house in Plymouth to go fishing with his friend in Polzeath, Cornwall at 5.30am.

It was a sunny day and they'd been hunting for a good place to set up their kit on the rocks. That's when a huge wave came up and swept Michael into the water.

His friend dialled 999 immediately, and RNLI lifeboats and a helicopter were sent out to look for him.

I realised I might never see my brother again.

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At Mum's, all we could do was wait – and hope. I sat with Kai on the living room floor and drew silly pictures to distract him – and myself.

But there was little news and by late afternoon, once the light had faded, the police told us they were calling off the search. We desperately wanted them to keep looking, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse and it would've been too dangerous to continue. That's when I started to lose hope – and realised I might never see my brother again.

I thought back to the last time I saw him alive, just three days earlier. We'd been at Mum's, and I was teasing him about the vest he was wearing, which showed off his tattoos. But I didn't want to believe he was dead.

That night, I texted him. 'Come on, Mike. Stop being silly and come home.' But of course, there was no reply.

The next day, the RNLI started looking for Michael again. But as the evening closed in, the search was called off – for the last time.

"There's nothing more we can do," a police officer told us. I felt numb. My little brother was gone – and I was devastated. But I knew the RNLI had worked incredibly hard to try and find him – and I was eternally grateful for that.

I'll never forget my brother, or the work of those who helped look for him.

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In April, we held a candlelit service for Michael, and in November we threw a party in a local pub to celebrate what would've been his 24th birthday.

Then, on the anniversary of the accident, we held a memorial for him. Though we still hadn't found a body, it was our way of saying goodbye.

Earlier this month, I gave birth to another son who we've named Michael. I'll never forget my brother, or the work of those who helped look for him.

That's why I want to encourage others to raise money for the RNLI by taking part in their H2Only Challenge in June – drinking nothing but water for 10 days.

They do a fantastic job and save so many lives – even if, this time, they couldn't save Michael's.

* If you want to take part in the H2Only challenge, sign up here before 5pm on 2 June.

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